Runners
by deltaai
Summary: After Freelancer goes belly-up, York and Carolina flee with Delta in tow. Now, they're trying to avoid both the crumbling project's Recovery Agents, and the Meta... (Rating for language/violence/possibly adult themes)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Ready Set

The low, distant background hum of far-off machinery came sliding back into the night. York's eyes opened. He blinked twice, slowly, wondering what had yanked him out of his first decent night's sleep in... hell, who knew? At least a couple weeks, it felt like. He squinted, blearily checking the clock across the dark room. The dimly glowing display read 02:25.

Tired as he was, York's brain was already kicking on. He thought about waking up Delta, but while he was thinking about it, he noticed how quiet it was. _Too little quiet in my life these days,_ He thought to himself. He smirked lopsidedly in the darkness, _Never thought I'd say something like that. I'll let D sleep for a bit. Shut down. Whatever._

Groaning very slightly ( _From being tired, not from being old, I swear.._ ) York rolled out of the bed and staggered into the bathroom. Careful to shut the door before he turned on the light, he leaned heavily on the cold porcelain of the sink. With a slight buzzing, the fluorescent light flickered twice, then popped on. York looked groggily up at it, and turned on the sink with one hand. A splash of water and some eye rubbing, and he looked up to see himself fully awake and staring back at him. God, but he barely recognized the face anymore.

It had been, what, two months? Three? Stress lines had faded onto his face so quickly, though you could still easily see the handsome lines of his face beneath them. _I'll be a silver fox before another month is out, at this rate._ Even through the smarmy joke, York felt tired. Besides, no one was looking at any of that when they looked at _his_ face. Well... almost no one. York glanced at the door.

He'd never expected everything to go to shit. Sure, doing the kind of work a Freelancer did was a risk, but he'd been thrown through the gauntlet and come out fine. He was good. His team... his team was _great_. Unfortunately his team had also turned out to be a powder keg of jealous ambition, competition and conspiracy. And then there was Maine...

He realized that standing in front of a mirror while reflecting was both a bad pun worthy of Wyoming and more than a little melodramatic. Reaching for the door handle, York clicked the lights off and soft-stepped into the bedroom. He slipped over to the bed, and pulled the covers back over the spot he had left, and up around Carolina's shoulder. He watched them gently rise and fall with her steady, deep-sleep breathing for just a few seconds before tip-toeing out to the balcony.

 _Benefits of this backwater planet,_ he thought to himself as he leaned against the smooth metal rail, _a room with a balcony in an Earth city would have cost a fortune. Here on Floral, it's practically free..._ Which was just as well, since they were running out of money pretty fast. He looked down into the misty streets, jammed with people even at this hour. Trucks (and a few cars) stopped and started, stopped and started, as people weaved their way through, around, and everywhere. "Who named a planetoid like this _Floral_?" He muttered under his breath. Maybe someone's great aunt.

"This moon was named by a colony ship sent by Harvest Enterprises, and was originally used as an ideal place to grow exotic plant matter for various chemical and medical purposes." York's wrist unit lit up, and a tiny green figure popped into existence just over his right hand. "This city was founded as a collections base, and expanded until the collapse of the soil's mineral r-"

"Good morning, Delta." York leaned onto his left arm and gave a half-smile, tired but warm.

"Good morning, Agent York. I expected you to be asleep. Local time states that it is currently 02:-"

"I know what time it is, D. I couldn't sleep."

"Your lack of adequate sleep is slowing your reaction time by 18% already."

"I'm fine, Delta." York looked back into the bedroom. "If she can keep going, I can keep going."

"Historically, that has proven... inaccurate."

York looked at the AI evenly, but the effect was ruined by a yawn escaping into the night. "Alright, maybe you're right." He stared down into the wet streets, eyes distant. "But hey, for a one-eyed locksmith, I'm doing pretty good...right?"

Suddenly he was there again, on the training floor, head spinning. Just for a moment, it flooded back to him, the sudden rush of adrenaline when the grenade rolled into view, the blunt, knocking impact of the paint ammo, the sudden tightening of his right side, and then-

York shuddered, and looked back at Delta. "So where did you learn about all that plant stuff, anyway?"

"There are a large number of unprotected data networks in this area. I have been gathering intelligence about this region since we arrived." Delta paused "I have also been monitoring interplanetary flights to the local spaceport."

"Have you? So, do they know they have an extra flight controller?"

"I have only been monitoring communications, York."

"Right, right. And?"

"Agent Washington is in the city."

York stared at Delta. _Wash? Was he tracking us? For Freelancer?_  
"D... is Wash here for...to...why is Wash here?"

"I am not sure. It seems logical to assume that he is here to recover Project Freelancer equipment."

There was a pause. "You mean you, don't you?"

"Yes."

York stared out into the city, gripping the rail and shifting his weight for a long moment. Between pursuit by Freelancer and pursuit by the Meta, it would only be a matter of time before everything came crashing down around the two fugitive soldiers. _Wash_... "Well, I suppose we'd better go ask him, then." York stood up and stretched.

"I do not think that is a good idea. Contact with the enemy should be kept to a minimum, especially given your lack-"

"Wash is _not_ the enemy, Delta." York snapped "Wash is just... Wash. He'll listen to reason."

"Agent Washington _is_ still a member of Project Freelancer. I would advise caution."

"Sure, D. You know me." York grabbed the handle to the sliding glass door "My middle name is caution."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Washed

 _Schk...click...schk...click..._

 _"_ More coffee, sweetie?" York looked up to see the waitress of the _Corner Orchid_ smiling over the counter at him, warm, heavy-lidded eyes with just a little too much make-up. York cleared his throat, realizing that he'd finished his second cup while he wasn't looking.

"Uhm... sure, that'd be great. Thanks"

"You look like you could use it."

 _Thanks,_ thought York, _like I need the reminder that I'm tired._ Even thinking it made him slump into his seat a little more. The waitress arrived with cup number three, and York wrapped his hands around it, slipping his lighter back into his pocket. It wasn't cold outside or anything, but it _was_ pouring down rain, and the diner, of which he was the only occupant, felt small...Almost cozy. The sheets of water rolling down the windows gave the brightly lit, one-room building an air of... _isolation?_ York was thinking, _No, that's not it. Solitude. That's it._

"Well this is cozy."

York half-turned, took a breath, and turned all the way... and burst out laughing.

Agent Washington, elite soldier and now a Recovery Agent for Project Freelancer, looked like nothing so much as a soaking wet cat. Sopping wet, yellow-blond hair matted to his forehead, Wash stood dripping on the diner floor and glaring at York. York, for his part, eventually noticed Wash's dead stare and sobered quickly. A long moment of terse looks passed between them. "Aheh. Sorry. You just look... uh..."

"Coffee, hon?" The waitress interrupted mercifully, forcing the two men to break eye contact and cough nervously.

"Uh, yeah, I'll... I'll have a coffee. Thanks." Wash looked at the row of stools attached to the counter and turned, walking toward the back of the diner. York sighed and carried his and Wash's coffee back to the rear-most booth. Wash slid into the padded seat and rested his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as he did. Rivulets of water slid down his hands onto the table between them. "It rains too much on this planet, York." It was more of a sigh than a sentence.

"Must be why they grow so many flowers here."

Wash raised his head "I need to take Delta back."

"Hey, it's good to see you, too." York sipped his coffee. He wanted to be casual, play things off smoothly like he always could. For once, he wasn't sure he could. "You look good."

"No I don't. Neither do you. This cat and mouse game is killing us both, and we both know it's only a matter of time before the Meta catches up to you. And that's not something you can survive. Freelancer can keep Delta safe."

"Like it kept Alpha safe? Like it kept _us_ safe?" York set his coffee cup down just a little harder than he meant to, sending little droplets of brown fluid flicking onto the table. "Freelancer _caused_ all this, Wash. I'm not going back, and Delta's not going back either."

"So you'll take your chances with the Meta? Remember, he was already a better fighter than you when he was just Agent Maine-"

"He's still Agent Maine."  
" _NO!_ " Wash slammed his hands onto the table. "No, he's not..." he murmured, though whether to York or himself it was hard to tell. There was a pause, as the waitress bustled over and fussed about the table, wiping it clean, though not, they noticed, refilling the coffee.

York shifted uncomfortably "So how's, ah, how's North doing? Is Theta still with him?"

"I'm not... at liberty to talk about that."

"Alright, Wash, how are you, then?" York studied his old friend and squad mate closely for the first time. He noticed a lot of familiar wear lines on the face across from him.

" _That_ I don't _want_ to talk about." Wash avoided York's gaze, staring off across the empty diner, hands playing idly with his coffee cup. "I'm fine."

"Wash, I haven't seen you since... since..."

"Epsilon. I know. I said I'm fine."

"What the hell happened, man? I heard it freaked out in your head, and you were out for a really long time."

"And when I woke up, you had run off with a stolen AI, Carolina was dead, and the Mother of Invention was buried in the side of a mountain. A lot happened, York. Everything's changing. I need..." Wash's face softened as he trailed off. Both of them sat, looking out of the diner windows at the rain. Some workers were packing some boxes into a truck across the street. Or unpacking. York wasn't paying attention. "You need what?" He asked softly. _A friend? Someone you can trust?_ He thought, but didn't say.

A moment passed, and Agent Washington's face became lined and stern again. "The Delta AI is Freelancer property, York. Where is it?"

Feeling the abrupt change in tenor, York's expression flattened in disappointment. "D's on holiday. Taking a vacation. Probably cross-referencing matrixes or something."

" _Matrices_." Both men sat up sharply as the green glow of Delta's small figure reflected off of the freshly polished surface of the table. "Apologies. I do not wish to interrupt, but I have noticed several important details that I estimate will not wait."

Confusion, not for the first time since gaining an AI, crossed York's face. "What are you talking abou-"

" _You brought it WITH YOU?!_ " Wash gripped the table, incredulous. " _What the hell were you thinking?!_ "

"That an extra pair of eyes might come in handy?" Returned York "That I might want someone interesting to talk to? Or, maybe that D's _in my head, and that taking him out isn't exactly like plugging in a thumb drive?_ ".

"Again, I do not wish to interrupt your... discussion," Delta glanced between them hesitantly "but the situation, as I said, will not wait."

" _What situation, D?_ "

"The gentlemen just southeast of the diner, on the opposite side of the street. I believe they are preparing for a military action of some kind."

Both men looked out the window, this time more intently. Sure enough, the men unloading the truck had unpacked assault rifles, and one even had a shoulder-mounted missile launcher. York blinked. "How the _hell_ did someone smuggle _that_ thing planetside?" _And how did I miss it? Must be more tired than I realized._

"As a primarily agricultural planet, it is unlikely that the planet's import customs regulations are very thorough. If you'll recall, it was also a primary reason that we relocated here ourselves."

Delta was right. No two-bit farming planet was going to exactly have MAC guns or checkpoints, an advantage they themselves had counted on.

"Alright, Wash, what's the plan? Did you bring any firepower?"

"To a diner." Wash looked at him evenly. "For a chat. With you."

"Alright, that's fair. Can we call a drop from Freelancer?"

"We? And no, for a lot of reasons;" The men across the street were idly checking their equipment. "We lost a lot of that stuff in the crash, and in this rain I doubt a signal would punch through anyway."

"If I may: they do not have radio equipment, either short or long range. If we were to leave without their knowledge, they would not be able to relocate us very easily."

"There's an idea;" deadpanned Wash "all we need to do is just sneak past six armed men staring at us through paned glass, through the building's only door, which is also right in front of them." He sipped his coffee nonchalantly, though York could see the muscles in his neck were tensed.

"It would not be entirely accurate to say that this building has only one exit."

York looked around as casually as he could manage, willing the adrenaline out of his movements "There's a back door to this place, D?"

Both former Freelancers looked at Delta, who seemed to hesitate.

"...there is a bathroom window."

Wash pinched the bridge of his nose, laying his head in his hand. It occurred to York, amusingly, that this was probably not the way most Recovery missions went. "Okay, D, so we sneak out the back, take a few side streets, and we're clear?"

"I have reviewed the building plans on file with the local city planning office. The window may be slightly... unaccommodating for Agent York."

"Delta, are you calling me fat?" York looked at Wash, who had his fist planted firmly over his mouth to stifle his laugh.

"The inaccessibility is due to the width of your shoulders, York."

"Oh, so I'm not fat, I'm handsome."

"That is a subjective judgement that I would not feel comfortable making."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

" _York."_

 _"_ Alright, alright. Other ideas, besides asking the waitress for more butter?"

"There is a city sanitation vehicle scheduled to make a stop here in 3 minutes. It should provide adequate cover."

"Wait, so I'm supposed to walk out the front door, toward, y'know, the guys with big, incredibly deadly guns, and wait for _a garbage truck_ to, what, jump in the back of?"

Delta seemed to blink for a fraction of a second "Yes. It is the least non-ideal plan of action."

"Oh, well, good. Alright, Wash, you ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Rendezvous 3-2 Northeast?"

York looked at Delta, then back at Wash. "Yeah. 3-2 Northeast."

Wash got up as Delta winked out of existence, ran his hands nervously through his hair, and muttered "Well, here goes nothing."

York, suddenly ( _mostly_ ) alone, pulled out his lighter and nervously flicked it open and shut. He thought of Carolina, and hoped she was alright. He thought of Delta, and for what felt like the millionth time wondered if he had made the right choice, any of the right choices. He thought of Agent Washington, and wondered if maybe-

"Don't worry sweetie."

"Wha-?" Snapped out of his musing, York looked up at the warm, oddly comforting smile of the diner waitress.

"Don't worry about it. I've seen dates go a lot worse. Tell ya what, coffee's on me. You can tell him you paid for his when he gets back." She winked conspiratorially.

York sat, dumbfounded, as she walked away toward the counter, and for a moment, laughed madly into his hands. Then " _Sync_ " a voice in his head prompted, and he slid out of the booth toward the front door, and the waiting rain.


End file.
